It Might as Well Be Spring
I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm
I'm as jumpy as puppet on a string
I'd say that I had spring fever
– Frank Sinatra

After five weeks, three days, four hours, and twenty-seven minutes, Devishi had finally hit a wall. She had dug into the natural, or rather, supernatural histories of dozens of serpents, mythic and monstrous, half of which she was not fully convinced actually existed, and she still had no idea why basilisks were afraid of weasels. She also hadn't had any solid breakthrough on finding a substitute for cobra venom.

Aggravated, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared gloomily out the window. It had been dreary and overcast all morning, and a steady, sullen rain was currently pattering down on the gravel walkways at the back of the asylum, sending up little sprays of gray mud. Devi watched as beads of water rain down the window pane, becoming half-mesmerized before shaking herself and trying to return her attention to a book on serpentine monsters of Greece. She had read the same paragraph on Ladon twice without absorbing a word, and was in the process of repeating this futility for a third time.

I'm going stale in here, she thought. Then her hair fell in her eyes again. While still committed to the plan of growing her hair out, mainly because it didn't require her to do anything, Devi was being severely tested by her bangs. They were in that infuriating, half-way stage of long enough to obscure her vision, but just barely too short to tuck behind her ears. Fed up, she snapped the book shut, dropping it on the window seat and storming out of the library, trudging back upstairs to her room with the intent to find some means of restraining her hair. Digging through her duffle finally produced an elastic headband that had probably been in there since she'd used the bag to store her soccer gear in middle school.

Slipping it on and pushing her bangs back, she caught a glimpse outside. The rain had stopped, a rising breeze sending the pale remnants of clouds scudding across the sky. All at once the sun broke through the tattered cloud banks, setting the droplets on the lawn gleaming and making the grass glow like green fire. Devi noticed for the first time that some of the derelict flower beds still had bulbs in them: scatterings of crocus and daffodil had emerged, their gold and yellow blossoms standing out like beacons against the dark soil. Tentatively, she cracked the window, and a cool draft of wind brushed her face, bearing a damp, green smell.

Devi wasn't aware of making the conscious decision to do so, but she found herself changing into her running clothes, pulling on a hoodie, and dashing across the asylum porch. Skirting the building, she found the beginning of one of the gravel walks, and quickly followed it through the back gardens and into the uncultivated fields beyond.

A nice long run was just what the doctor ordered; she felt the fog lifting from her mind after the first mile and the fresh air, full of the scent of new grass and emerging leaves, was making her positively giddy. She had definitely been indoors too long.

The property tied to the derelict building was extensive, with a nice mix of woods and rolling pasture land; there were traces of what may have once been walking paths, long disused, but still serviceable. As she crested a low, wooded hill, she stretched her arms behind her, flexing her shoulders; there was still a slight "pull" in her right one, but she felt that getting back in her rhythm would help ease it out. She went along the ridge of the hill, following the trail as it wound down through the sparse underbrush on the other side. A tiny brook ran at the hill's base, small enough that it might have been new-made by the recent rainfall. Devi slowed to a stop alongside it. Something was off.

She looked around, but nothing seemed untoward about the woods until she took out her earbuds. It was too quiet. On a spring afternoon after a rainfall, the whole place should have been a riot of birdsong. She could hear some birds, of course, but they were fewer and more distant. Granted, they may have been scared off by her – she doubted any of Crowley's people were prone to taking a jaunt through the woods. Still wary, she half-closed her eyes and focused, then pursed her lips at what she found.

Hopping the little rivulet, she followed the path as it turned back towards the asylum, leaving the woods and passing through a long avenue of ancient beech trees spaced evenly apart. Coming to the last tree, she stepped quickly to the side, flattened herself against the smooth, gray trunk and peered around the tree, back the way she'd come. A minute later, a skinny man with short-cropped hair came into view, heavy boots clomping as he slogged along at a labored dogtrot, his t-shirt soaked with sweat.

Devi seized the demon by his collar as he drew level with her, swinging him around and slamming him back against the tree. "Why are you following me?" she demanded.

"Not my idea!" he gasped. "Believe me – you think I want to be stuck trailing some hare-brained chick through miles of muck and briars?" He tried to push away from the tree, but Devi shoved him back in place.

"That's not an answer," she growled.

"Crowley's orders, alright!" he said, still panting. "Saw you leaving and told me to follow, keep an eye on you."

"He's back?" Devi turned to look back towards the asylum. Once his minions had finished with the reconstruction of the ceiling, Crowley had taken another unexplained leave of absence, longer than any of his previous departures.

The demon nodded breathlessly. Devi released him, looking back over her shoulder towards the asylum, and he slumped back against the tree, hand on his knees. Devi gave one last irate glance at him.

"You threw off my groove," she snapped, and took off again, following the avenue of trees to the main driveway and from there back to the old building.

She entered by a side door that she knew was nearest to the kitchen, shedding her muddy shoes on the stoop. Getting herself a large glass of water from the sink, she rifled through the pair of low cabinets next to the sink. After finding her stranded in his kitchen, Andrews had taken pity on her and told her to write out a list of items she might like to have on hand, arranging for her food to be delivered with the rest of the household groceries. She selected a satsuma from a net bag, cocking her head as she heard soft footsteps approaching.

"We're almost out of oranges again – Oh," Devi had expected to see Andrews coming into the kitchen. She had never encountered any other demons in that room, and had assumed that the rest of them didn't bother with the indulgence of food.

Instead, there was a young, petite brunette in a crisp, blue linen blazer and skirt. She pushed a pair of horn-rimmed glasses back up her nose, looking at Devi with startled eyes.

Well, this is awkward, Devi thought. "Uh, hi," she began falteringly, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

The woman fidgeted with a file in her hands, before clearing her throat. "I came to use the espresso machine," she finally explained. She ducked her head in a nervous little nod as she skirted the island, making a beeline for the appliance in question. Devi matched her progress in the other direction, circling to the far side of the middle counter and busying herself with peeling her orange.

The woman had just set the portafilter in and pushed the appropriate button when she jumped back with a curse. Coffee ground flecked water was hissing and sputtering around the seal.

"Are you okay?" Devi instinctively moved to help, but as she rounded the island, she saw the redness on the woman's hand already fading. Oh, right – demon, she remembered. The woman looked surprised by her concern.

Devi quickly turned her attention back to the machine. Wriggling the portafilter in its seat experimentally, she frowned. "It feels like the seal is good. Maybe the filter-head is clogged," she said, looking back at the demon. "Do you know when it was last serviced?"

The brunette shook her head. "So few of us use it at all," she admitted. "The King generally prefers tea, so I guess it kind of gets neglected."

"Hmm, I could check it if I had a screwdriver, or maybe..." Devi scanned the counter, then dug through the drawer below the machine, until she found a small spoon. She craned her neck to see the underside of the filter, setting the head of the spoon in the flat-head screw and twisting. She drew her hands back quickly as the filter screen came loose; it was still steaming. There was a quantity of crusty black scale on the inside of the plate.

The demon quietly watched her work, looking both interested and a little disgusted. "Is that what caused it?" she asked, relaxing slightly.

"Yeah," Devi acknowledged, "You really need to clean these things whenever you replace the gaskets, or they get gunked up." She checked under the sink and found a bottle of cleaning tabs. Pulling a wide mug from the drying rack, she flicked the filter-screen into it with the tips of her fingers, along with one of the tabs, and ran hot water from the machine's spout into the cup. "You might have to let it sit for a bit," she explained, nudging the screen with the spoon as the tab fizzed, "then scrub the scale off with a toothbrush or something."

"Oh," the demon said softly, looking a little perplexed. Devi warily went back to her orange. The two of them felt the silence getting progressively heavier between them, before the demon finally spoke again. "You seemed... concerned, earlier," she noted.

Devi shrugged noncommittally, "I used to work in a cafe – steam-burns suck."

"They healed almost right away," the demon pointed out.

Devi shrugged again, "They still suck."

The demon seemed to ruminate on that for a moment. "Why would you care?" she asked.

Devi sighed. She wasn't sure herself. "Habit, I guess," she answered finally.

The demon frowned, but seemed to let the matter slide, and began leafing through her file while she waited for the filter to descale.

"So, why does Crowley even have an espresso machine if he doesn't use it?" Devi asked, hoping to distract herself from the previous conversation.

The demon's mouth quirked almost fondly. "He does sometimes. I think..." she stopped herself, then gave Devi a collusive look. "I think he might have gotten it more for the sake of completion than anything else."

"Well, he does like to have all the toys," Devi observed wryly, and to her surprise, the demon chuckled.

"He really does," she agreed.

"Have you worked for him for long?" Devi asked after a moment's consideration.

"Yes, since before he was King of Hell," the demon nodded, "back when he was just King of the Crossroads."

Devi perked up her ears. She hadn't heard much about Crowley prior to his ascent to the throne, and she was suspicious of what he had told her himself. Another source of information would be welcome.

"When he took the throne, he kept me on," the demon continued, "Said he wanted good analysts that didn't need 'breaking in.'"

"Crowley seems like a hard person to work for," Devi mentioned carefully. She hadn't seen him show much concern for his employees, for all his talk about preserving demon-kind.

"He demands competence," the demon replied a little primly. "If you do your job and do it well, he pretty much lets you have your head, especially if you can streamline the process."

"And when things go wrong?" Devi remarked.

"He doesn't like it," the brunette admitted, brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear, "but he can be understanding."

Devi arched an eyebrow skeptically.

"Seriously!" the woman insisted. "Back when I worked the crossroads, I had this one client – ugh! Older man, rich, entitled, full of himself, despite the fact he had just run an eighty year-old business into the ground."

Devi wrinkled her nose sympathetically. She knew the type.

"Anyway, I was bitching to a colleague about it – just water-cooler gossip, you know? – and just then Crowley comes around the corner!" She rolled her eyes emphatically, "I was so embarrassed! I tried to back down right away – I don't want to look like a flake – but, of course, he wants to hear all about it. So, I tell him about my last meeting, when this guy, who'd been staring down my shirt all night, made some self-righteous, condescending remark when a couple of guys walked passed by holding hands."

Devi's eyes widened, "You're kidding!"

"I know!" the demon confirmed vehemently. "Well, Crowley laughs at this, actually laughs, and then tells me not to worry about it, that he was going to finish up this deal himself." She leaned towards Devi, grinning conspiratorially, "You know how crossroads deals are sealed, right?"

"With a kiss," Devi remembered, stunned.

The brunette giggled gleefully, then sobered. "Granted, he did it to amuse himself," she acknowledged, "I know that. Still, I've never been more relieved to be let off a job."

"You forgot the best bit, Priscilla," a gravelly voice put it from the door, and Devi and the woman both jumped in their seats. Crowley was slouching in the entryway, smirking prodigiously. "I had Smitts take pictures," he added. "Now, have you run those projections I asked for?"

Priscilla stood quickly and straightened her shoulders. "Yes, sir," she clipped out, extending the file. "We're understaffed, but we should have what we need."

"'Should' doesn't pay the bills," Crowley corrected firmly. "Run them again to be sure."

"Yes, sir," Priscilla agreed, scurrying out of the kitchen, but not before casting a last look of longing at the espresso machine.

Devi turned to glare at Crowley, "You want to explain why you had me tailed on my run?"

He raised his eyebrows, "For starters, I wanted to be sure you intended to come back. It's not the first time you've gone haring off without so much as a by-your-leave"

"Last time I went 'haring off,' it was because someone was contemplating selling me on the black market," Devi reminded him sourly.

Crowley shrugged, as though that sort of misunderstanding could happen with anyone, "Well, you did go off without any explanation. What set you off – someone not adhering to the Dewey decimal system?"

Devi snorted humorlessly, "Nothing, I just...needed a change of scenery." She glanced back at him, "What else?"

"What else what?" Crowley answered distractedly.

"What other reasons did you have for tailing me?" When Crowley continued to look nonplussed, she went on, "You said 'for starters' you wanted to make sure if I was coming back. What else?"

"Oh, nothing," Crowley waved a hand, "Nothing of import anyway."

Devi looked at him narrowly: he was being squirrely. Still skeptical, she went back to her orange, but Crowley lingered in the kitchen, apparently having nothing better to do.

Devi was just on the verge of telling him to find somewhere else to brood when the kitchen door banged open. The demon who had been following her was standing there, mud-splattered and bedraggled, with an expression that somehow married exhaustion, ill-use, and being completely fed up.

Crowley gave him an acrid smile, "Kelson, so nice of you to finally join us."

Devi raised an eyebrow at the dispirited demon, Same guy as back at the cave – he and I seem to keep getting in each other's way.

Kelson opened his mouth as if to reply, but Crowley glowered at him and he shut it again. "Get out of here before Andrews finds you fouling his kitchen floor," Crowley growled at him.

Kelson went, casting a dirty look at Devi as he did so.

Devi scowled back at him as he left; it wasn't her fault he couldn't keep up. She sullenly pulled off another section of orange and shoved it in her mouth. An uncomfortable silence stretched.

Crowley abruptly broke it, "How's the shoulder?"

"Fine," Devi said shortly. Crowley narrowed his eyes skeptically, and she grudgingly capitulated. "A little stiff."

Crowley took her right wrist and held it out, rotating the shoulder slowly. "Not pressing yourself too hard, are you?"

"It's the joint, not the muscle," Devi corrected. "It gets tight sometimes," she glared at Crowley, taking back her arm, "Almost as if the asshole who reset it a while back didn't know what he was doing."

Crowley gave her a saccharin smirk. "Sounds like you could use a good massage. I could recommend someone."

Devi glared at him silently, twisting her arm behind her and rolling her shoulder until she heard the soft pop of tendons. She'd never admit it, but Crowley was probably right; she could feel the muscle practically crackling. Can't imagine why I'm so tense, she thought ruefully.

Crowley ignored her brush-off, "Once you get cleaned up, come to the library; there's someone I want you to meet." He half-turned to leave before pausing to fish an envelope out of his breast pocket. "Oh, by the way," he went on, holding it out, "your blood work came back."

Devi jumped up and snatched the proffered item, her hands shaking slightly as she did so.

"It's all good," Crowley added smugly, "Clean as a whistle – told you it'd be fine. Your iron's a bit low, though. They recommend you 'increase your intake of red meat.'" He chuckled.

"You read it?" Devi was appalled. "These are private medical records – they're none of your business!"

Crowley was taken aback by her vitriol. "If you had contracted anything, it would be down to me to fix it," he argued. "That makes it my business."

"You had no right," Devi snarled back. She swept her orange rind into the trash compactor and stormed out of the kitchen. "Stay out of my mail!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Crowley watched her go, stunned, before throwing his hands up. "Kids!" he spat.

Devi forcibly shut the door to her room behind her, fuming, Arrogant, interfering bastard. Turning the envelope over, she shuffled through the set of forms from inside, noting the neat cut edge where the missive had been opened. Maybe having the results sent here was a bad idea, she considered, but the clinic had required a mailing address, and she didn't really have any other to give them.

Unfolding the form, her eyes scanned down the columns of numbers mechanically. No chemical signatures associated with bloodborne disease: the chart was clean, as Crowley had said. Devi leaned against the door and let out a shuddering breath. She closed her eyes and rubbed the closed lids with her finger tips, trying to steady herself.

Apart from her brief moment of panic upon finding out about her contamination, she had largely put off feeling anything about the matter. There had been nothing she or even the King of Hell could do about it until her results came in. Now that the results were in hand, all the repressed fear, disgust, and anxiety came flooding back. She knew perfectly well that delaying emotions was a temporary solution, and one that could have negative side-effects, but doing so always seemed easier than dealing with them in the moment. At least this way, she could make sure no one saw her lose control. Shaking a little, she rose and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, checking her face in the mirror afterwards to make sure there was no trace of her little breakdown still visible. This was the last place in the world she could show weakness.

Crowley was waiting in the library when she got there, along with a dark-haired man Devi didn't recognize. Crowley gave an expression of disgust when he saw her, "Is flannel just some kind communicable disease that all hunters contract eventually?"

"Maybe if it wasn't so cold in here, I could wear something that doesn't offend your refined sensibilities," Devi replied evenly.

"We can't have the fire burning all the time; it will dry out the bindings." He straightened his coat self-importantly. "Back to the point, I find myself in the midst of the undertaking that requires my utmost attention. I'm afraid this will leave less time to dedicate to our project."

"Oh, darn, because you've been so helpful so far," Devi deadpanned.

He looked affronted for half a second before getting back on track, "Given the import of this other enterprise, I will be taking a bit of a prolonged sabbatical-"

"Another one? You just got back!" Devi interrupted. True, he hadn't been much help while he was at the asylum – if anything, his presence was a distraction – but it was the principle of the thing.

"Never fear, darling, I've no intention of leaving you high and dry." Crowley nodded to the man standing beside him, "Devishi Chaudhuri – Jonathan Fletcher. He will be helping you to finalize the formula while I'm gone."

The young man took one hand out of his pockets and held it out to Devi.

"Another black-eyed babysitter?" Devi asked Crowley, ignoring the newcomer, "Aren't Andrews and Kelson enough?"

"Mr Fletcher here isn't a demon, darling, he's a witch," Crowley clarified. "One of the best in the business when it comes to material magicks."

"Oh," Devi said, looking at the young man afresh. Now that she focused on it, there wasn't a solid sense of the demonic coming from him, as there was from Crowley and numerous other points throughout the asylum.

The young man, who looked to be in his late twenties, was a study in contradiction. His apparel – black skinny jeans and an "Avenged Sevenfold" tee-shirt – coupled with the gauges in his ears and a spiked, intentionally-messy hairstyle suggested an edginess that came dangerously close to trying too hard. On the other hand, he had a pleasant, open face, a short, neatly-trimmed boxed beard outlining a self-effacing smile below honest blue eyes. Everything about his expression said "Trust me," and Devi, ever contrary, instinctively did not.

"Sorry," she said at last, "There are a lot of them here."

"'S alright," he replied easily. "It's a fair assumption to make." He had a slight Irish accent, one that suggested he had been out of his home country for a bit.

There was a long pause before Devi asked, "So, what are 'material magicks'?"

"Ah, just a grand-sounding name for magic done through physical components: potions, charms, hexbags, and the like." He shrugged modestly, "I know a fair bit of arcanic pharmacology, and a dash of alchemy as well."

Crowley seemed gratified they were at least talking. "In addition," he went on, "I thought it might benefit us to return to basics, and to that end…" He gestured to a large, rectangular glass box on the table nearest the window.

Devi, curious despite herself, walked over and peered into the box. There was some sort of sawdust lining the bottom, a few stones and tree branches settled on top. Devi had to look twice before she noticed a coil of dusty black scales, banded with faint traces of yellow. "You got me a snake?" she asked. At his nod, she added, "It says a lot about our history that this really is the nicest thing you've ever done for me."

"Ingrate," Crowley chided fondly. "Yes, the biggest bugger of a king cobra I could lay hands on, at least on short notice."

"A king cobra?" Devi frowned thoughtfully, "I guess that might work."

"What do you mean, 'might'?" his expression darkened. "You told me you use cobra venom."

"Yes, but king cobras aren't true cobras, common name notwithstanding," Devi explained. "They're not Najas. Same family, different genus – or is it a clade?"

"Does that make a difference?" Fletcher asked, coming over to join the conversation.

"I haven't the foggiest," Devi told him. "I'd been sticking with the Indian cobra, since they're supposed to be sacred."

Crowley made a stifled sort of chuckle at the comment, and Devi glared at him. "What's so funny?" she snapped.

"It's just adorable, mankind's little notion that something ordinary can be made sacred by human efforts," he replied, with his most condescending smile.

"Oh, so the fact that every demon ever is violently allergic to holy water is only a fluke, then?" she retorted.

Crowley opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

Fletcher laughed behind her, "She's got a point there. So, I take it you haven't tried any other serpents for your poison?"

"Well, we did try basilisk, but it didn't work," Devi explained. "It didn't kill the target, and it compromised the poison's ability to function as a devil's trap."

"Devil's trap?" Fletcher looked at Crowley, "You didn't tell me about that part."

"What did he tell you?" Devi asked, looking past the young man to glare suspiciously at Crowley.

"Just that you had something that can kill demons outright, and you're looking to make it a bit more potent," Fletcher told her. "I take it there's more to it?"

Devi didn't answer him, but continued to glower at Crowley.

He smirked, putting a fatherly hand on Fletcher's shoulder, "Ah, I'm afraid, my boy, that Ms Chaudhuri is rather protective of her secret recipe, simply refuses to give it out to anyone. So, you'll have to start with step one: snakes, and see what you can do from there."

"Uh, okay," Fletcher said, looking askance at Crowley's hand on his shoulder and very subtly leaning away from him. "So, basilisk was a no-go. Any idea why?"

"Actually, I did have a couple thoughts on that," Devi answered. Beside curing her cabin fever, going for a run had helped her process the information she'd studied, and she'd formed several theories as a result. "I think part of the problem is the nature of the creature. Basilisks are pretty much entirely destructive and evil, which conflicts with the nature of everything else in the poison, and its purpose."

Crowley scoffed openly, "That's your big idea? It's a mean snake, so the other ingredients don't want to talk to it?"

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Devi snapped at him.

"Sadly, yes," he agreed. "So I'll leave you two crazy kids to it." He gave Devi a serious look from under his eyebrows, "I expect some real progress by the time I return." He vanished before she could think of an appropriately cutting response.

"Asshole," she muttered at the empty space, which was very unsatisfying.

After a moment, Fletcher spoke up, "So, you were saying about conflicting natures?"

"You really want to hear the rest?" Devi looked at him sidelong, wondering if he was just trying to placate her.

"Sure! I mean, you know the whole formula and you've been working at this for a while, right?" he figured. "If you think something doesn't fit, you probably have a good reason in mind."

"Well, I was thinking about it being sort of like alignment," Devi began slowly. "The poison is meant to combat demons, beings which are generally evil and destructive. So, it makes sense that the ingredients would be aligned opposite." As she spoke, she found herself becoming more and more self-conscious. She didn't even know if the principle she was appealing to actually applied to real magic; it was just something she'd picked up from role-playing games. Hesitantly, she glanced at Fletcher.

He didn't seem dismissive of her idea. Instead, he looked thoughtful, pensively stroking his short beard. "Stands to reason," he said slowly. "You said you were using cobra venom, and that did work for ya?" Devi nodded, and Fletcher edged over to the terrarium on the table. "So, what alignment do cobras have? Because they don't strike me as very nice either."

"Well, they may not be cuddly, but they're not evil," Devi insisted. She looked thoughtfully at the terrarium. "Cobras show up in Hindu iconography a lot. They're associated with two of the Trimurti: Shiva and Vishnu."

"Isn't Shiva destructive?" Fletcher asked. Devi shot him an irate look, and he held up his hands defensively. "Sorry, I don't know a great deal about Hinduism, but… that's the title, isn't it? Shiva the Destroyer?"

Devi sighed, "'Destroyer' maybe isn't the best translation. In Western philosophy, it's pretty much always negative, right? Just devastation?" Fletcher shrugged, so she went on. "In Hinduism, it's more like dissolution. The universe is constructed, maintained for a time, then dissolves into its most basic elements so it can be remade. The whole thing is one cyclical process."

"So, it's deconstructive as opposed to just disastrous," he parsed out. "And then Vishnu, he's the preserver, right?"

"That's one understanding. He and Shiva both are often depicted with cobra-form deities, Shesha and Vasuki, who are kings of..." Devi trailed off, then clapped a hand to her forehead in realization, "Naga! I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier!"

"I thought you said that was a naga, or rather wasn't one," Fletcher pointed to the terrarium, looking confused.

"Not Naja, that's just Latin for cobra," Devi explained. "Naga, they're demigods from the underworld that take the form of giant cobras. Oh, damn it!" She stamped her foot, "Just when he might have actually been useful."

"Who?" Fletcher asked.

"Crowley! I can't imagine how else we could get ahold of something like naga venom. I don't even know where we'd begin." She crossed her arms, "Right when we need him, Mr 'I can get anything' has to take yet another 'sabbatical.'"

Fletcher furrowed his brow thoughtfully, "Snakes from hell – still doesn't sound like the opposite of evil and destructive."

"Patala is a series of wealthy and refined subterranean kingdoms; it's not the place where bad people are supposed to go when they die." Devi corrected. "As for snakes, sounds like someone has some prejudices to work through. Didn't the Irish have some problem with snakes?"

"We have no problems with snakes," Fletcher denied, "on the grounds that someone went and got rid of them all for us."

"Well, maybe it's time to get reacquainted," Devi offered with a wry smile, nodding to the glass box and stepping to the side.

Fletcher shrugged resignedly and leaned against the table, gazing down at the recumbent snake. "He doesn't seem very friendly."

"Poor thing's probably cold," Devi explained. "Look how he's all bunched up. There really should be a heat lamp on top of the case, but I guess his nibs couldn't be bothered to set up the habitat like you're supposed to."

She found a cardboard box on one of the chairs containing a half a bag of aspen chips, a broad, shallow ceramic dish, a few extra rocks, and a halogen dome lamp, besides a few other odds and ends. Devi tossed the plug end of the cord to Fletcher. "Find an outlet for me," she instructed. "I'm going to get some water for him." When she returned with a glass of water, Fletcher was in the process of fixing the lamp to the top of terrarium.

He seemed to have figured it out, though he looked doubtful at the result, "Is this right?"

"I don't know," Devi said honestly. "I know a bit about snakes generally, but I've never kept one."

"Snake of this size'll take some keeping," he observed. "What are we supposed to feed him?"

"Mice, I guess," Devi brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I think pet stores sell them."

"Aw, you mean we have to throw the mice to their death?" Fletcher made a face.

"You can buy them already dead," Devi reassured him. "They come frozen – you have to thaw them out and warm them up before feeding them to the snake."

"Remind me not to use the microwave here," he said.

"Ew, you don't heat them up in a microwave, that's disgusting!" Devi replied.

"Then what, a hair dryer?"

Devi shrugged helplessly.

Fortunately, Andrews had a much better approach to the problem. Lucas, as it turned out, knew something about keeping reptiles, and Andrews brought him in to set things up correctly. Devi watched, relieved, as Lucas set the water dish in the case, filling it from the glass she had brought; she'd really had no plan for how she was going to get it in there without risking a bite.

"We should name it," Fletcher said. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

"It's hard to tell with most reptiles," Devi noted. "With snakes, usually the females are bigger."

Lucas shook his head, "Most species, yeah, but not king cobras – they're the other way around." He nodded to the case, "One this size, it's probably a male."

"So, boy snake…" Fletcher pondered a moment. "What about 'William Snakespeare'?"

Devi and Lucas, as one, slowly turned and looked incredulously at Fletcher. Oblivious to their stares, Fletcher rubbed his beard thoughtfully, then brightened.

"I got it! Give credit to the source – we should call it 'Mr Crawly,'" he grinned.

Devi couldn't stop a giggle from bursting out of her, but Lucas turned away with a groan, muttering under his breath as he retreated to the sanctuary of the garage.